No Sickness of Heart
by TheQueenOfTheLight
Summary: Emma becomes really sick after chasing Pongo in a rain storm, and has to be hospitalized. Regina and Henry end up taking care of her. Friends to Lovers. Eventual SQ. Swan-Mills Family Fluff.
1. Chapter 1

God, did Emma feel awful. Her head throbbed. Her body ached. Her throat and lungs were sore, and on top of all of that, there was the queasiness. Every time she moved too suddenly, and even sometimes when she didn't, she had to clamp her lips together to keep from being ill. To round off her perfectly awful state, she felt disgusting, as well. Snow and Charming, who had jumped at the chance to play parents for their fully-grown daughter, had not allowed Emma to leave bed more than was strictly necessary for the past three days, which of course meant it had been over three days since she had been permitted to shower. She felt as though she were coated in a sheen of feverish sweat and a layer of scum from her illness.

"Sweetheart, is there anything I can get you?" Snow asked from the doorway of Emma's bedroom.

 _Maybe for you to leave me alone for more than five minutes, so I can actually get some rest,_ Emma thought in frustration, but instead croaked out, "No thanks, Mom. I'm still fine." She couldn't help but add a mumbled, "just like the last ten times you and Dad came in here."

Apparently she hadn't uttered it quietly enough because Snow sighed as she walked into the room, and Emma prepared herself for what she, even in her sick state, knew was going to be some sort of lecture. "Emma, sweetheart, your father and I are just worried about you. We want to help you get healthy again. You know, we only have your best interest at heart," Snow stated as she sat on the edge of Emma's bed. At that, Emma opened her mouth, prepared to say something about how she knew what her own best interest was, but all that escaped was a coughing fit—not nearly as violent as some she'd had in the past few days, but still enough to make her throat sear and her lungs clench painfully.

Snow started frantically fluttering her hands around Emma, trying to calm her coughing, until finally she settled with her hands patting Emma's back far more vigorously than was strictly necessary as she floundered, offering everything from tea to a decongestant. As Emma regained her ability to breathe, Snow still continued to bluster around her trying to help, yet in the process remaining completely and utterly unhelpful. "Mom. Mom, stop. I'm fine. Stop, Mom! Seriously!" Emma sighed exasperatedly, as she swatted Snow's hands away, only for them to return a moment later still fluttering and patting uselessly. They continued in this manner for a couple of seconds until Emma finally managed to get her attention as she wheezed out, "Snow! This is not helping!"

At the rasped exclamation, Snow settled back onto the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap as she looked Emma with wide, wounded-puppy eyes. That was the first time Emma had referred to her as anything other than "Mom" in a while, and although she had not intended for it to hurt Snow—or even really intended to say it in the first place—it did succeed in getting her to focus.

"Sorry, Mom." Emma settled a hand hesitantly over Snow's and watched as she relaxed a bit, but didn't lose the hurt in her eyes. "Look, I get it. You and Dad want to take care of me and be good parents and all that, but I'm not a child. Sure, I'm sick, but I can take care of myself, just like I have for the past twenty-some years." At Emma's words, the hurt on Snow's face became more pronounced with the pout that settled deeply on her pale face. Emma quickly backtracked with, "Not that I don't appreciated the help! It's just a lot to take in! I'm not use to people looking after me, and there is just so much _tea!_ " Emma bemoaned glancing at the six empty mugs situated on her nightstand just from today. "And you guys both took off work for the past _three days_ to look after me—which was totally unnecessary by the way! I just feel a little smothered, and—shit! That's not what I meant! I just—I … well" _Dammit!_

Snow took pity on her sick, rambling daughter and held up a hand to prevent any more words from spewing out. "I think I understand. You're use to taking care of yourself when you're sick," Snow paused briefly, caught up in her thoughts as she unconsciously reached forward to brush a strand of hair from Emma's face. "And I guess your father and I have gone a little overboard trying to make you feel better." At Emma's face that clearly shouted _Ya think?!,_ Snow added, "Well, we're just trying to make up for the times you had to take care of yourself when sick … No one should have to feel alone, _especially_ when ill."

"Thanks, Mom." Emma's expression had softened as she listened to her mother's explanation and heard the pure love and sincerity behind her words. " _But_ that doesn't change the fact that I'm not a little kid anymore. You don't need to check on me every two seconds, and you guys should go back to work tomorrow. I think I can survive a few hours on my own," Emma teased.

Snow sighed quietly, but with a smile none the less, "Alright, sweetheart, if you say so. I guess I'll just tidy up and let you rest." True to her word, Snow got up, gathering all the used tissues and garbage into a bin and tossing a pair of dirty pajamas that had been heaped on the floor into the hamper before collecting all the dishes from the room and heading to the kitchen. She returned moments later handing Emma cough and fever medications followed by a glass of water. Settling the glass on Emma's nightstand after Emma finished taking the pills, Snow helped her recline comfortably before she couldn't resist tucking her in and placing a kiss followed by a damp rag on Emma's feverish forehead.

"I love you, sweetheart," Snow whispered.

"Love you, too, Mom," Emma mumbled back sleepily, causing Snow to smile as she shut the door. Downstairs, she relayed the talk to David, and the pair complied, letting Emma rest—only checking on her once more before bed when they found her dead to the world, snoring contentedly.

Emma awoke groggily, glancing around her darkened room to see the glowing numbers of her alarm clock shining 1:14 a.m. Ugh, she had started to feel a little better earlier that day, but any hope that she was recovering went right out the window as, at that moment, she felt shittier than she had during the past three days … probably combined. She went to put her hand to her aching, overheated head as she sat up, before flopping back again, her arms folding tightly over her now clenching abdomen. The nausea settled in as her stomach began to roll uneasily. _How can I feel like I'm gonna puke, if I don't even have anything in my stomach?!_ She thought angrily, before it donned on her. _The tea;_ it felt like an angry sea of bile was splashing around inside of her. She quickly sat up, grabbing her pillow, duvet, and mobile—because at this point, she deemed it quite likely that she'd be spending the rest of her night on the floor of the bathroom—and trudged her way across the hall, locking the door behind her and building herself a small, semi-comfortable nest on the floor, all the while hoping that this was just a precaution and she wouldn't actually be sick.

That hope was quickly lost as her stomach clenched again, more painfully this time, and bile rose in her throat. She leaned over, her hands clenching around the rim of the porcelain bowl as her knuckles whitened, and her eyes began to prickle and burn with tears as her throat and mouth began to burn similarly from the returning tea and bile. Once she could breathe again around her seizing and achingly raw throat, she brushed her damp eyes before unsteadily rising to sink to rinse her mouth, not even bothering to look in the mirror at her pale, sickly reflection. She then tied her currently stringy hair back into a messy, uneven ponytail, knowing that was probably only the first in a collection of times that would happen that night. Exhausted, she settled into her makeshift bed, snuggling into the duvet as she shivered.

 _Lord, this is probably the first time I've been sick enough to camp out on the bathroom floor since I was … what … twelve?_ She had been a relatively healthy kid, not getting sick nearly as often as the other kids in her homes, but one time when she was in sixth grade, not even she could escaped the bad bout of flu that was making its way around her middle school. She had been in one of the foster homes that she deemed _livable_. It wasn't exactly the kindest or most loving family to stay with, but at least they didn't smack her around and abuse her like in some of the other homes. When she had come down with the flu, she had hidden herself away in one of the bathrooms wrapped up in only a threadbare quilt, with her white-knit baby blanket pillowing her head. Her foster siblings had complained about her hogging the bathroom, and her foster mother had come banging up to the bathroom, likely to berate her for wasting everyone's time and space, but upon finding the poor, sick girl curled up on the floor against the bathtub, had mostly let her be—only bringing her a glass of water when it wasn't _too_ much of an inconvienence and pretty much just letting the illness take its course. With that memory floating through her mind, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, prepared for a long night.

Emma groaned as her phone chirped beside her on the bathroom floor. Her joints crackled and popped as she sat up, stretching and smacking her chapped lips, her mouth and throat dry and raw from her many repeat performances that she had correctly predicted the night before. She cringed at a particularly stiff muscle in her neck, likely the result of spending the night on a hard, tile floor. _Man, I am_ not _as young as I use to be._ Finally the ringing registered in her mind, a particularly royal-sounding rendition of "God Save the Queen." _Regina._ She quickly—but blindly—fumbled for her phone, hitting answer.

"Hello? What—" she cleared her throat, although not remotely managing to remove the croak from her strained, raspy voice. "What time is it?" she asked cracking her eyes open and squinting around, her bleary eyes not able to take much of the harsh light reflecting off the white surfaces of the bathroom.

"It's six in the morning, dear," came the crisp reply over the line. _God, 6 a.m. How does she manage to sound so awake and put together at 6 a.m.?_ Emma grumbled internally. "I hope I didn't wake you," Regina's voice softened in a way it never would have during their first year of acquaintanceship, or well more accurately enmity. But they were friends now, and Regina sometimes allowed her walls to fall around her in minor ways such as this softened voice. _Friends_ , Emma smiled, rubbing her tired eyes.

"No, s'all good. Wassup?" she scratched out, voice roughened by sleep and the strain of the prior night.

"Are you sure you're alright, dear? I heard from one, Miss Lucas, that the True Love party of two had taken off work the past couple of days to care for their _darling_ and _devastatingly_ _ill_ daughter." Emma could her the playful smirk in Regina's voice and couldn't help but grin, too.

"Okay, yes. I'm a little sick, but honestly, I agree that it was ridiculous for them both to take off work to look after me. I'm a grown woman after all!"

Regina chuckled, "Oh sometimes, I seriously doubt that, my dear."

"Oh ha-ha, R'gina, very funny. Did you just call to make fun of me? Cos that could have waited for a more reasonable hour," Emma only half-joked. The woman valued sleep even on her healthier days.

"No, I called about Henry—"

"What about Henry?" she sat up straighter, tense and much more alert. "He's alright, isn't he?"

"He's fine, dear. Don't worry. I was merely curious as to whether you, in your weakened state, were still intending to take him for the coming week, as originally planned."

Emma sighed, rubbing her hand over her tired face. She had honestly forgotten she was supposed to have Henry, what with her fever-addled brain. "I don't think that would be the best idea," her voice soft, sadness seeping into it. She loved spending time with her son. She could honestly say that he was the most important person in her life, and giving up more time with him than she already had, killed her a little bit inside. "I'd love to see the kid, but I really don't want to infect him with whatever bug this is I've got." She paused for a moment, waiting for Regina to speak, but when she didn't, she added, "Maybe we could switch weeks, just for this month. You take him for two weeks, and I'll take him for the two weeks after that. Then we go back to alternating weeks. I mean if that's alright. I just miss the kid when I don't get to see him often. Just like I know you do—"

"Miss Swan, you're rambling," Regina cut in chuckling. "That arrangement sounds perfectly amenable to me; however, Henry has been missing you. So as long as you promise not to sneeze, cough, or spread your unsavory germs to our son, why don't I have him walk to the loft after school, and I'll pick him up there once I am through at work?"

Despite their new status as allies, friends, co-parents—honestly it was quite the complicated relationship the pair shared—Emma had anticipated the worst for throwing a wrench in Regina's always-perfectly-planned schedule, so with Regina's more than willing acceptance, Emma couldn't contain, "Thanks, Regina! You're the best!"

"Well, Miss Swan, I—" Regina's witty remark was cut off by a harsh, barking coughing fit from Emma.

"Sorry," Emma rasped in what Regina could clearly tell was a pained gasp.

"Goodness, Emma! You sound dreadful! Are you quite alright, dear?"

"Yeah, I'm fine R'gina. But next time," Emma grunted, "when Pongo escapes during a thunderstorm, Archie can be the one to risk pneumonia and chase after him, 'cause it sure as hell _won't_ be me again!" Emma shivered just thinking about her hours spent out in the freezing rain, searching for a sopping Dalmatian to calm the hysterical psychologist. "You'd think he'd find a better way of containing that mutt after the amount of times he's gotten out."

"One would think so, but that _obviously_ isn't the case," Regina chuckled. "Anyway, I must be getting ready for work. Get plenty of rest, dear, and remember, Henry will be there at a little after three as that's when school lets out. I'll be by no later than six.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks, R'gina. I'll seeya then."

"Goodbye, dear."

As the line went dead, Emma couldn't help but smile; conversations with Regina, more often than not these days, left in a happy mood. _She called me_ Emma _. She was worried about me._ Her heart warmed. _She cares enough to remind me to get more rest._ And as she was no longer feeling overly queasy, rest was exactly what she planned to do. Rising, slightly unsteadily, she quickly brushed her teeth at the sink before gathering her things from the floor and staggering back across the hall to her room where she flopped stomach first onto the bed—only staying awake long enough to set an alarm for a little before Henry would arrive.

When Emma awoke that afternoon, she felt much like she had when she had awoken late the night before. Her head felt simultaneously too heavy, as if it had been packed full of cotton, and too light, like she very well might just topple over if she hadn't already been lying down. Her stomach was, again, roiling with nausea, but at this point contained nothing to expel. As she rolled onto her back, she noticed a damp cloth on the back of her neck that had long ago stopped being cool. One of her parents must have placed it there before leaving for work. The thought warmed her heart even if it could do nothing to ease her illness. _I need to get up,_ she told herself, but still took several attempts to actually get herself, aching muscles and all, out of bed.

She headed downstairs, intending to prepare Henry an after-school snack, but had barely managed to make it to the kitchen, when a particularly bad dizzy spell hit her. With her vision blurring around the edges and her ears filling with a sound akin to rushing water, she clasped her hands desperately to the island, trying to remain upright and thanking every deity she could think of for saving this vertigo until she had reached the bottom of the staircase. She did not want to imagine faring those narrow metal rungs in a state as unsteady and pained as this one was.

Finally, after her fingers had started to numb from her clenched grip around the edge of the countertop, the vise-grip on her head lessened and the lightheadedness seem to pass slightly. Sighing in relief, Emma stepped towards the pantry, hoping she could scrounge up a tasty snack for the kid, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness twice as bad as the last bout. She barely even noticed that she had somehow wound up sprawled on the ground despite never making the conscious decision to lie down. All she could think as the kitchen faded around her and her vision went dark was _SHIT!_

A couple minutes later, the front door of the loft swung open, revealing a young Henry. The boy, who was becoming much more teenager than boy, was all angles, gangly limbs, and floppy hair, standing in the doorway looking every bit a mix of Regina and Emma, in jeans and a sweater that screamed casual, but expensive. He dropped his bag and jacket by the door, slamming it shut behind; despite Regina having tried so hard to train it out of him, door slamming was just one habit the boy refused to unlearn. _Ma does it!_ He would whine at Regina, but rather than save him from a lecture, it usually just threw Emma under the Regina-bus, as well.

"Ma? I'm home from school! You down here?" He shouted, glancing towards the kitchen and lounge areas, both of which looked empty. It was unusual for Emma not to be downstairs or at least making her way downstairs when she was expecting him over at the loft, but he chalked it up to what his mom said about Emma being really sick. "Ma?" he called out again. When he received no answer, the kid assumed she must be upstairs resting, but still he couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something didn't feel right; even if Emma was napping, she had always woken up and given him some sort of response in the past. "Ma? I'm gonna grab a snack and then head up in a minute, kay?" he yelled towards the staircase, and made his way towards the kitchen. The now increasingly anxious kid still heard no response, and as he rounded the island, he understood why.

There sprawled across the floor between the counter and the island, lay an unconscious Emma, looking pale and sickly with wild hair and limbs positioned haphazardly around her. "Ma!" Henry shouted, running to Emma's side, as adrenalin thrust his anxiety into full-blown terror. Dropping down beside her, he started poking at her, trying to coerce a response, _any_ response from his birth mother. "Oh God, Ma! Wake up!" He shook her shoulders as panic set in around the boy's heart, tightening painfully when she still didn't wake up. As a last resort, he threw himself towards the sink, filling a glass with freezing water which he promptly dumped over Emma, and then the mother and son had matching dampened faces, one with tap water and the other with tears. Henry dropped back down beside her, "Please, Ma. Wake up," he whispered, tears thickening on his face and in his throat, but Emma continued to lay there, unresponsive.


	2. Chapter 2

_What do I do? What do I do?!_ Henry thought to himself in panic. _Call 911! … Ma_ is _911! What. Do. I. DO?!_ He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate and tried to remind himself to take deep breaths and remain calm. _What would mom do?_ And then he realized _Mom!_ The boy immediately began patting at his jeans pockets searching for his cell phone before groaning, hands mussing through his hair in frustration, as he remembered that he had tossed it in his bag after school. _Crap._ But then he saw it, his beacon of hope. Emma's mobile was up on the end of the counter. He lunged for it and searched the contacts, finding Regina's number at the top of the recent calls list. "Don't worry, Ma. I'm gonna get help," he whispered as he held tightly to her limp hand, all the while listening to the line ring. _Come on, Mom. Pick up!_

"Hello, Sheriff. Is there something I can help you with this afternoon?"

At the sound of his mom's calm tone, he almost let out a sob of relief. "Mom? It's—"

"Henry?" The calm tone instantly vanished. "Why do you have Emma's phone? What's wrong?"

That's all it took to push Henry over the edge. At the concern in Regina's voice, the tears started pouring out more heavily, and his breathing became uneven and raged again. Clutching Emma's hand more firmly to his heaving chest, he managed to sob out, "Mom, I—it—it's … Mom, it's Ma. I—she won't w—wake up! I—the loft—after school," he paused to take a deep breath and collect himself. "She was passed out on the ground. Mom, I don't know what to do," he whispered before the lump in his throat made it impossible to say anything else.

On the other end of the line he heard his mother shout—actually shout, his mother _never_ shouted—to her secretary, "Alice! Cancel the rest of my appointments! I have to leave, _now!"_ He then heard some clattering and banging before she spoke into the receiver, "Henry, I'm on my way. I'll be there—"

"—Now," he heard from behind him in the lounge. "Henry?"

"Mom? Kitchen!" was all the boy was able to choke out in a cracked voice.

Regina spotted Henry's brown hair peeking up over the island and rushed around the counter before stopping in her tracks, speechless at the site on the ground in front of her. _Oh my gods and goddesses._ Regina's mind screeched to a halt, not fully capable of processing what she was seeing. All she knew was that her heart felt like it had simultaneously stopped, frozen in a block of ice, and sped up to a relentless pace, attempting to rip itself out of her chest. Emma. Strong, brave, brash Emma. She looked so different … so vulnerable laying there, her body twisted and sprawled awkwardly. Her usually glossy hair looked damp and stringy, and her body looked washed out beyond its normal pallor—except her cheeks which were a flushed, feverish shade of pink. In any other situation, Regina probably would have laughed at seeing Emma in a white tank top and pink, heart-covered sleep shorts, but now, the humor was lost. The childish pajamas struck a dissonant cord within her; seeing Emma like this, it was like seeing the warrior without her usual pleather jacket of armor. It seemed wrong—invasive—and Regina had to look away, instead finding Henry's distraught eyes boring into her. The boy looked small and every bit as lost as she felt in that moment. His face was a mess of tear tracks and mucus; his hair stuck out at odd angles, in a crown of disarray, as though in his angst, he'd run his hands through it several times. From where she stood, Regina could see the white knuckles of his hands curled near to his chest, clinging desperately to a mobile and Emma's hand.

"Mom?" Henry called again to his mother who still stood stagnant a few feet away, and the pleading in his voice seemed to reach into her suspended mind. She kick-started in a whirl of motion and was on the floor beside Henry in seconds.

"Did you check her pulse? Her breathing?" Regina asked quickly, trying her best to keep her voice level and calm, for her own sake as well as her son's. At the shake of his head, she had her fingers at Emma's pale, fever-dampened neck, while ordering, "Walk me through what happened." Her steady tone and direct command, lulled Henry enough to launch him into his telling of the events, which Regina half-listened to while tending to the unconscious Emma. The pulse point under her fingers had a slow, steady beat that calmed her immensely, but Emma's breathing still felt wrong. Regina held her fingers under Emma's nose; the breaths puffing out felt shaky and uneven. Bending down over the blonde's prostrate form, Regina pressed her ear to Emma's chest. There, Regina could hear the air struggling within Emma's lungs along with a worrying wetness that _definitely_ shouldn't be there. _Oh Emma, what have you done to yourself?_ Regina brushed her palm across an over-heated cheek, before taking in another disturbing detail: Emma's lips were tinged blue. _Shit!_ Glancing down at the hand not currently secured in Henry's death grip, Regina saw Emma's nail beds had the same bluish tint. "Henry, we need to get her to the hospital, _now!_ " She dragged Emma's limp body off the floor and into her lap as she wound her arm tightly around her waist. "Henry, listen to me," she demanded seriously, ensuring the boy was looking at her before continuing, "I need you to hold onto me as tightly as you can." He nodded, finally releasing his ma's hand, and wrapped both his arms firmly around Regina's torso. She settled her free arm around his shoulders and secured her grip on Emma and her son before summoning a swirl of thick violet smoke to envelop them as the trio disappeared with a poof.

Moments later, in another coil of magic, they reappeared on the floor of the nearly empty emergency waiting room of Storybrooke General Hospital. Under the hospital's buzzing fluorescent lights, Regina could no longer contain her panic and shouted, "Help! Please, we need a doctor!"

A nurse sat at the check-in desk, working on a crossword puzzle and looking bored, but at the commotion, she look up, surprised. After all, aside from the occasional curse or magical monster, Storybrooke was generally a sleepy, small town with little excitement, but upon seeing the town mayor looking frantic with her son and an unconscious sheriff in her arms, she instantly had the desk phone in her hand, calling over the speaker, "We need a doctor to the ER. I repeat, we need a doctor to the ER, stat." She then came around the counter to kneel by the trio, checking Emma for a pulse. "We should have someone here to help shortly," the nurse spoke in a calm, quiet voice, but Regina just stared at her blankly clutching her family to her more tightly. _Family … This is my_ family, _and I could lose part of it, again!_ The nurse watched as the mayor's eyes widened and her blank mask began to dissolve into an unnerved expression. The nurse opened her mouth to calm Regina, but was interrupted by the waiting room doors banging open.

"Dr. Whale—" Regina choked out in a strained voice, looking up at the man heading the team of medical professionals whirling around her little family.

"Madam Mayor, can you tell us what happened to the sheriff?"

"She—I—" she paused to regain her composure as doctors and nurses swam around them in a rainbow sea of scrubs. "Henry found her unconscious. She's had the flu, but I don't think it's solely that because her breathing is off and her lips and nails blue."

"Blue lips? Her airways not blocked is it?" a young man, who had taken the nurses place beside Emma and now had his hands on her face, asked looking up at the doctor, looking quite similar to a puppy seeking its master's approval.

"No, you idiot," Regina growled, glaring as her unease and worry quickly converted to anger at this idiot of a man. "I _just_ said she was breathing. How co—"

Whale calmly intervened, "Please refrain from shouting at my interns, Madam Mayor." He then turned to his team, barking orders that Regina paid no mind to as she watched them loaded Emma onto a gurney and wheel her through the double doors. Her eyes remained locked on those doors as her mind drifted to how small and fragile Emma had felt in her arms just seconds ago. So breakable. _What if she's not alright?_ She fell into her own mind, getting so lost that she didn't even notice when only a woman in purple scrubs remained in the waiting room with them, until she lightly laid her hand on Regina's shoulder.

Looking up, Regina saw a kind, older face that held the beginnings of wrinkles and a warm smile. "I'm Nurse Clara." She offered her hand to the crumpled woman on the floor which Regina hesitantly accepted, pulling Henry up with her. "I will try to keep you updated on Sheriff Swan's status, okay?" Regina nodded as the nurse led the pair over to a small couch, not too far away. Clara continued to speak, but Regina just nodded along, not truly registering the words, as her eyes drifted back to those double doors that Emma had slipped away through just moments before. She wanted to cry, could feel angry tears burning at the corners of her eyes, but refused to let them fall, refused to allow herself that weakness, refused to admit to herself that Emma mattered that much to her. At some point the nurse slipped away, promising to return when she had news of Emma's condition, but Regina remained in her stupor, heavy with emotions she repudiated having, eyes glued to the door, only moving them when her fears for Emma became too thick to suppress.

Instead, her eyes darted around searching for a distraction, taking in anything that wasn't _those doors_ , now too ladened with her mind's struggles. She took in the waiting room, with its disgusting mint green furniture that looked as though it had been there since the enactment of the curse. _What was I thinking when I built this hospital? This furniture was never in style. If people weren't already sick when they got here …_ She joked, trying to add some levity to her thoughts, but failing dismally as a voice in the corner of her mind—ironically similar to Rumple's—chuckled, _You wanted everyone to be miserable. Now, so are you._ Regina wrenched her eyes away from the furniture, feeling ill, and instead set her eyes on the clock. That was really no better, though, as each minute that passed made her increasingly more anxious; if she watched that clock for one more minute, she'd likely set it aflame with one of her fire balls. _Henry._ Regina fixed her eyes on the boy beside her. At some point, he had unlatched himself from his locked grip around her waist, and she, now, watched as he moved from finger to finger biting the nails down to the quick, all the while staring blankly at the doors.

It was so easy for her, sometimes, to forget he was still a child. He was growing up, getting closer to his teenage years, and he carried himself with such intelligence and maturity, that she simply … forgot. He was still a child, her baby, but right now it was so obvious. As he reached his last finger, he looked down at his hands, like he'd only just realized he'd been restlessly chewing the tips of fingers and they now hurt. Suddenly those green eyes, so similar to Emma's, turned on her, looking young and scared. "Momma?"

That one word rang in Regina's ears and broke her already weighted heart. _Momma._ Henry hadn't called her that in years, not since he was six or seven years old. Her little boy had developed a recurring nightmare of abandonment when he'd found out about his adoption, but birth mother or adopted mother, none of that mattered when her darling baby would crawl into her bed in the middle of the night, crying for his momma never to leave him, before falling asleep curled into her side. Her little Henry never called her _Momma,_ unless he felt hurt or scared or completely alone. Her eyes welled up briefly as she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. "Yes, darling?"

"Momma, is Ma gonna be alright?" His voice came out small and scared, so Regina pulled him more firmly against her side, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

"I don't know, my little prince," she whispered planting a kiss on the top of his head, "but I certainly hope so." The pair sat in silence for a short time, but everything felt too tense with worry. "Why don't you tell me a story? Your favorite time with Emma, perhaps?" Henry stared at her for a moment, knowing exactly what she was trying to do, before he settled back into her side and launched into an animated telling of the time when Emma took him for ice cream and then gave him a piggy-back ride all the way to their play-castle.

After many of Henry's stories and what felt like forever but was likely only an hour or two, Nurse Clara returned to find Regina watching Henry as he played some sort of video game on Emma's mobile. Once the doors clicked shut, two sets of eyes were glued to her. "Come with me, please," she requested, softly. They were on their feet at once, following the nurse through the doors.

As they wound their way through the hospital labyrinth, up stairs and through hallways, Henry couldn't contain his abundance of nervous energy, wiggling and fidgeting around beside Regina. She could see the questions waiting impatiently behind his incessantly twitching lips, until he finally burst out with, "Is Ma okay? She has to be alright. She is alright, isn't she?"

Nurse Clara just chuckled softly, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile. "Your mother is going to be just fine." Regina released a heavy breath that made her lungs ache as if she'd been holding it in since she had first poofed into the loft. _Emma's going to be okay. No more loss …_ her heart fluttered lightly, and she brought her hand up to her chest to rest delicately over the beating organ. The poor blackened thing had endured far more strain in the past few hours than it had since Storybrooke's last magical disaster.

"Do we get to see her?" Henry asked, bounding up next to Clara and bouncing on his toes—all the while giving her his best hang-dog expression, prepared to beg if her answer was no.

Clara reached her hand forward to ruffle his already disheveled hair. "I'm taking you to her private hospital room, now," she grinned as the boy began to bounce more energetically. "She's stable, but still unconscious, and she'll also have to remain under observation for at least three days." Regina gave a small gasp, surprised, and the nurse stopped at a door, turning to look at the woman behind her, who appeared to be in a state nearing complete emotional and physical disarray—although she was obviously trying to hide the fact. The nurse, like everyone else in the small town, had heard through the Storybrooke rumor mill that the infamous mortal enemies, Regina Mills and Emma Swan, had somehow formed a close companionship without anyone initially realizing, but honestly, the woman before her was beyond usual friendly worry. Either the new dynamic duo were completely blind to what was between them, or a friendship wasn't the _only_ thing that formed without the town realizing because, simply put, Regina looked like a hot mess. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair was in a state of dishevelment that _almost_ rivaled Henry's, and her typically shrewd, narrowed eyes were wide and blank, covered in a perpetual sheen of unshed tears. One hand was fiddling nervously with the collar of her shirt while the other arm was wound securely around her middle, like she was barely holding herself together.

Regina could barely bring herself to ask, "What's wrong with her?"

"I'll let the doctor explain. We're here," Clara nodded to the door they were standing by—Room 328. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to tend to," she excused herself before adding, seriously, "Take care." Regina recognized her meaning as more than a polite farewell and bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment before taking Henry's hand and entering the room.

Emma seemed so small in the hospital bed, looking just as pale as the crisp, white linens that ensconced her. In one arm, there was an IV that lead back to a clear bag hooked onto a tall silver pole, and disappearing under her hospital gown were a couple of cords that connect to a rhythmically beeping heart monitor. What startled Regina most was the small tube taped under Emma's nose that appeared to be supplying her with oxygen from a tank beside her bed. _At least her lips have returned to their natural color._ Regina soothed. It was difficult, seeing Emma so motionless and helpless, strapped down and wired up to everything in the near vicinity.

"Eh-hmm," came a small throat clearing from the corner of the room. Henry ignored it, moving straight to Emma's side and grasping her hand as he began a whispered, one-sided conversation. Regina watched for a moment before turning to the source of the sound. In the corner stood a tall man in blue scrubs and a white lab coat, holding a clipboard with what Regina assumed was Emma's medical file.

"Where is Dr. Whale?" Regina asked, voice hard and eyebrow raised.

The man smiled, offering his hand to shake, "I'm Dr. Koch, the pulmonary expert at the hospital. After diagnosing Miss Swan, Whale transferred her to me."

Regina accepted the hand shake, but couldn't bring herself to smile. "Henry, sweetheart?" The boy paused his whispered chattering to Emma and glanced up at Regina. She dug into her pocket, pulling out a bill, as she walked to the boy's side. "Why don't you take this," she said, offering him the money, "and run down to the vending machine to get a snack."

"But, Mom—"

"Please, Henry." He eyed his mother, suspiciously, taking in her tone and expression—noting the hint of shielded desperation. He knew Regina better than she thought, and could tell that she wanted him out of the room while she spoke to the doctor.

"Can I get anything I want?" he asked, watching her nod. "Even chocolate?" he pushed, knowing Regina hated when he had foods that were too sugary.

"Yes, Henry. Considering the … _extenuation circumstances_ ," she paused glancing at Emma's still form, "I would say that's acceptable."

"Sweet! Thanks, Mom!" he grabbed the bill, bouncing forward to hug her. He then spun around, placing a kiss on Emma's cheek and giving her hand a light squeeze as he whispered, "I'll be back in a minute, Ma, promise," before disappearing out the door.

"He seems like a good kid," The doctor commented.

"He is," Regina whispered, watching after him for a moment, before returning her attention to the doctor. "Well?" she demanded. The doctor just looked at her with furrowed brows. "Her condition, Dr. Koch," she expounded with a sigh as she glanced toward the hospital bed. "What is wrong with Emma?"

"Well," he said, perusing Emma's file again, "it looks like she has pneumonia."

"Pardon?" Regina exclaimed, despite having heard him perfectly. _Pneumonia … Poor Emma,_ she thought remembering the horrendous coughing fit from the morning. _Oh dear, what if Henry has it now, too? I don't think my heart could handle seeing both of them bound to hospital beds._

"From the tests we took," he explained flipping to another table in the file, "it looks like pneumonia, probably caused by her flu." At Regina's wide-eyed look of concern, he continued, "Don't worry, it's actually one of the less dangerous strains, bacterial and not even contagious. Unlike viral pneumonia, Emma's case is a result of bacteria found in her throat and nose naturally, but because her flu symptoms weakened her immune system, she was more susceptible to the illness."

"I—is the pneumonia why she fainted?"

"No, that was actually the result of simple dehydration. Most of her symptoms—the fever, nausea, and dizziness—are the result of the flu, not her pneumonia. The combination of fever and nausea causing both sweating and vomiting in tandem with a general lack of fluid intake, made dehydration essentially inevitable," he explained thoughtfully, before flippantly adding, "Honestly, she's lucky passed out when she did."

"Excuse me?" Regina growled out through gritted teeth. "Please, explain to me how involuntarily losing consciousness is in _any_ way lucky."

Dr. Koch raised his hands in defense, before running his free one through his hair. "My apologies, I didn't intend any offense. It's just good thing that she got to the hospital when she did."

"And how, pray tell, is a trip to the emergency room ever a _good thing?_ " Regina's patience with this man was wearing thinner by the minute, and she was really straining hard not to summon a fireball with the name _Koch_ written all over it.

"Well, Madam Mayor, despite having a less virulent strain, Emma does still have _pneumonia._ She was already showing signs of fluid build-up in her lungs when you brought her in, and the blue lips and nail beds were a sure sign that oxygen exchange in her lungs was already being inhibited." Regina was stunned; _this sounds far worse than_ fine _!_ "Even if she hadn't become severely dehydrated, she would have been here at the hospital in a couple of days on a respirator as we drained fluid from her lungs."

 _No._ Regina couldn't even comprehend what the doctor was saying. _Fluid build-up? Respirator?_ Emma was so close to severe danger—danger that _she_ couldn't have helped her with. _I was so close to losing her, my closest friend, Henry's_ mother!

"Luckily, though," he soothed, preventing an internal breakdown, with a small smile and a calming hand on Regina's shoulder, "we got her before the worst symptoms could take hold. Instead of the respirator, we've got her on an oxygen tank until she wakes up, just to promote oxygen exchange. She's also on a saline drip to help her equalize her electrolytes and get rehydrated; we are using the same line to give her intravenous doses of antibiotics to combat the pneumonia. In fact, the excess fluid should begin drying up on its own as soon as the antibiotics kick in, and she should be off the drip in a matter of days. Then, we'll switch her over to an oral antibiotic for another week or two, until her flu is gone. There isn't much we can do for her flu symptoms, except wait for them to take their course, but we can get her fever and nausea suppressants, should the need arise. In my opinion, best case scenario," he gave her shoulder a small, comforting squeeze, "she could be out of here and back home in as early as two to three days … as long as she gets plenty of rest and listens to the nurses, of course."

Regina couldn't help but chuckle, sarcastically, _could be worse, but …_ "We all know how good the Sheriff is at sitting still and listening." Dr. Koch laughed in agreement—the entire town knew about Emma's legendary patience, or _lack_ _thereof_.

When his face relaxed back into a pensive expression, Regina couldn't contain her concern, "What?"

"Nothing to worry about, Madam Mayor," he said with that small, calm, doctor smile of his that despite being comforting was _really_ starting to annoy the brunette. "I was just thinking about how surprised I was to receive an adult bacterial pneumonia case. It's pretty common in those with poor immune systems, like young children and the elderly, but it is relatively rare in young to middle-aged adults. Well, except for those who suffer from chronic lung problems, but Emma's medical records don't show any hist—"

"Asthma," a rough voice rasped out from the hospital bed. Regina and the doctor both turned to see a _finally_ conscious Emma leaning up on an elbow. "I 'got asthma," she croaked as she brought her free hand up to wipe at her face.

"Emma! You're awake!" Regina was at her side in a trice.

"Hmmm, so I am." Her face twisted to somewhere between annoyance, confusion, and a full-blown pout, as she pulled the tube delivering oxygen from her nose, frowning at it, before turning dazed eyes on Regina. "Where am I, exactly?"

"Storybrooke General Hospital."

"Oh." She flopped back down on the bed, happy to accept the answer, for a moment before pushing back up on her elbow and staring at Regina with a pouting lip and furrowed brows. "Why?"

"Well, my dear, it seems you passed out due to dehydration from the flu and pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?"

Regina nodded.

"Seriously?" Emma asked, incredulously.

Regina simply nodded again, patting Emma's hand as she said "I thought you'd enjoy the irony of the situation," chuckling as she thought of Emma's melodrama from their conversation less than twelve hours ago.

"I'm not sure if _enjoy_ is exactly the word I'd use." She released a few coughs while pouting, before turning to Regina again, "Pneumonia? Seriously?"

"Yes, Miss Swan, _seriously._ Are you always this lost when you first wake up?" she teased, feeling more relaxed every second she spent in the presence of a _conscious_ Emma.

"What are you talking about, Madam Mayor?" she quipped back. "I'm this lost all the time. I thought you knew me better." Emma childishly stuck out her tongue, and Regina laughed—a true, full laugh—which felt nice after the tension of the past few hours.

Dr. Koch cleared his throat, drawing their attention to where he stood, scanning over the machines attached to her. "You appear to be doing fine. I'm going to take my leave, but I'll send in a nurse to check you over in a few minutes. If you need anything, don't hesitate to press the call button," he said, pointing to the red one on the panel at the head of the bed, "and someone should be with you as soon as possible." The women nodded, and he slipped out of the room, after hooking the clipboard over the foot of Emma's bed.

Emma watched as the door swung and clicked shut, settling herself into a more comfortable sitting position before saying, "I don't like him."

"Now, Emma, he's a nice man and good at his job—the pulmonary expert of the hospital," Regina defended.

"He annoys you, too." It wasn't a question.

"My word, he does!" Regina laughed. "He somehow began to get on every one of my nerves when he was explaining what was wrong with you." _Honestly, what kind of man says it's lucky someone fainted? … Even if it is true!_

Emma laughed along, too. "So what was the diagnosis, Doc R'gina? Am I gonna make it?"

"Of course you will, idiot," the word softened to a term of endearment by Regina's smile. "Like I said, just a little flu and pneumonia. Some antibiotics will have you back to your _White Knight_ self in no ti—" her teasing was interrupted by a clattering near the door. Henry had just barged back in, and upon seeing Emma awake and smiling, dropped his two cans of soda and assortment of candies and snack foods, in favor of sprinting towards the hospital bed.

"Ma! You're awake!" The boy looked about ready to tackle Emma in his excitement. Luckily, Regina caught her energetic son's arm at the end of the bed before he could make his running leap.

"Careful, Henry. Emma may be awake, but she's still ill."

He looked down at his shoes woefully, but before he could spout the apology that Emma could already see him forming, she cut in, rasping, "It's alright, R'gina. Com'ere, kid." she scooted over to the right side of the mattress while patting the empty space on her left.

Henry immediately made himself comfortable in the spot she'd made for him, looking at her pale face while clasping her hand. "How're you feeling, Ma?"

"I'm fine, kid. Can't complain. How was school today? … It is still today isn't it?" She was still a little fuzzy on how long she'd been out.

"Yeah, Ma, it was good. Same old, same old." He hesitated for a moment before looking down at their intertwined fingers and whispering, "I was worried about you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Ma … I was the one who found you." He then found Emma's eyes, and she could see something deep within his expressive eyes that hadn't been there before—a disquieted sadness.

"I'm so sorry, kid. Com'ere," she whispered again as she pulled him down into her side, where he readily curled up, nuzzling his face into her shoulder. Folding her arm around her son, she listened to him chatter on first about the incident, then school, and finally anything that popped into his mind. Henry always made her smile, and watching the mother-son pair interact made Regina smile, too, as she moved a large, squishy armchair—originally found in the corner of the room—closer to Emma's bedside.

Regina then went to retrieve Henry's haul from the vending machines, laughing as she said, "Henry Daniel, I said _a_ snack, not twenty!"

"Hey, it's not twenty! … Just like twelve or thirteen," he grinned, sheepishly.

Regina just rolled her eyes as she set the pile on Emma's bedside table, next to her mobile. For the next couple of minutes, Emma and Regina exchanged the occasional look—or silly face, on Emma's part—over Henry's head, while he continued to chatter away; that is, until the calm was shattered by warbling birds and woodland sounds being aggressively emitted from Emma's phone. "Ugh!" Emma groaned.

"What is it? Are you alright?" Regina began to worry over Emma, but the blonde simply batted her hands away.

"I'm fine! I just _really_ don't want to talk to Mom, the _Queen_ of Overreacting, right now," Emma grumbled nodding to the phone. Regina could see the name _Snow White_ flashing across the screen.

Henry chirped in, "Someone has to tell her that we're at the hospital. She's probably worried." Emma simply groaned louder in response, knowing the kid was right—he usually was.

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Regina offered. _Voluntarily talking to Snow White … definitely not something I would have done in the past._ But taking in Emma's pleading face, she knew she would do it again and again, if Emma asked. _I'm going soft,_ she realized as she grabbed the phone and made her way to the hall. As she reached the door, Nurse Clara appeared to check Emma over and smiled at Regina while she slipped passed, out of the room.

Once in the hall, Regina hit answer, but before she could even utter a _hello_ , her ears were assaulted by Snow's worried squawk, "Emma? Where are you?! You need to come home, immediately! Your father and I have been so worried. We came home from work to find you missing! You're sick! You shouldn't even be out of bed, let alone out gallivanting around town! Do you understand how close we were to calling out a search party?! You could have been dead in a ditch, for all we knew! I was so—"

Regina couldn't take it anymore, and cut her short, "Snow, please, do calm down before you hurt yourself."

"Regina?! What are you doing with my daughter's phone? What have you done to her?!" she shrieked, while David's unintelligible voice could be heard, garbled, in the background.

"I've done absolutely nothing to Emma. Why would I harm my friend, the mother of _my child?_ "

"Sorry, Regina. I just—old habits, you know?"

"Yes, dear, I do."

"So where is Emma? Is she alright?" Snow asked, the worry returning to her voice.

After the damage Snow's loud voice had undoubtedly inflicted upon her unsuspecting eardrums, Regina couldn't resist messing with her just a little bit—old habits, after all. "Oh Emma is perfectly fine. Henry and I are with her at the hospital, right now."

"What?! The _hospital?!_ Why are you at the hospital?!"

Regina then heard Charming mumble something before Snow growl out, "I don't know, David. That's what I'm trying to find out!"

"Please contain yourselves, children. As I said, if you ever bothered to listen, Emma is fine." Regina then launched into an explanation of the afternoon's events, which really shouldn't have been _that long_ of an explanation but with Snow and Charming, nothing was ever easy. Nearly thirty minutes later—with Clara having left twenty minutes prior, giving Regina a thumbs up to say that all was well with Emma—Regina was reaching the end of what little patience she possessed. "Snow! Enough! A nurse has thoroughly assessed Emma's health and has assured me that your daughter is doing well. Emma. Is. Fine!"

"Okay, Regina. Sheesh, no need to get so worked up. I was just making sure." At Regina's annoyed growl, Snow's voice jumped half an octave, "Right! So! We are on our way!"

"Thank you, dear," Regina sighed, rubbing at her now aching forehead. "Before you go rushing out of your apartment, do you think you could gather some things into a bag for Emma?"

"Like what?"

Regina sighed, "Like a couple comfortable changes of clothes and maybe some shower supplies and other toiletries. As I've said several times now, Emma has to stay here for treatment and observation for a few days, and although the concept may be foreign to you, I do believe she would prefer to keep up with basic hygiene."

"Okay, we'll grab i—wai—hey! That was uncalled fo—"

She broke off Snow's complaint with, "Emma is in Room 328," before hanging up without waiting for a response. Slipping back into the room, she sighed with relief at _finally_ being off the phone. "Well the love birds are on their way—" Regina started, but her voice drifted off as she took in the adorable site before her. Emma was asleep, stretched out comfortably on her back with a lightly snoring Henry glued to her side. His arms were cinched around her waist, and his head was burrowed into her neck. Emma's nose was burrowed into Henry's soft brown locks in a way Regina remembered doing many times herself. Pulling up the camera on Emma's mobile, she snapped a quick photo, before going to plant a soft kiss on her sleeping son's temple and brush a few stray locks out of his face. Smiling fondly at the dozing pair, she then settled into the cozy armchair at the bedside and reached forward to grasp Emma's cool hand, weaving their fingers together and squeezing tenderly.

 _She's okay. She's alive._ It was weight off of her shoulders that she hadn't even noticed had settled upon them _. Henry's not going to lose Emma. He won't have to live without her._ It was a wave of relief washing over her; she hadn't realize how much she had come to rely on Emma as Henry's other mother, how truly large the roll she played in both their lives was. Regina gave the blonde woman's hand another soft squeeze between her own, all the while ignoring the voice niggling at the back of her mind whispering, _You won't have to live without her, either._


End file.
